my dear, we will not go out. You need not have gone to all the trouble of dressing up."
"What a life!" muttered the companion under her breath.
And, in truth, Lisabeta Ivanovna was a very unhappy girl.
"Thou shalt know by experience," said Dante, "how salt the savour is of other's bread and how sad a path it is to climb and descend another's stairs."
But who can depict the troubles of a young girl who is a companion to an old lady in high life? It was not that the Countess was wicked, but she possessed all the whims and fancies of a once pampered and fashionable woman. She was miserly, rude and as selfish as one can be who feels she is gradually being set aside by the world. She never missed a ball and she would sit in a corner all powdered and painted and look like a death's-head at a feast. Every one of her guests, as they came in, bowed profoundly before her, but this ceremony over, no one ever spoke to her again. She entertained the whole town, according to the etiquette of that day, but she never could call people by their right names. Her numerous servants, grown old and fat in her service, did pretty much as they pleased and pilfered to their hearts' content, as
